My heart exploded from the pureness of Afropunk. It was a peaceful, loving, soulful event for all ages. Any negative stereotype of blackness was eradicated in that space, and only the positives remained. Love is love, and our identity is human. It was more than a music festival. It was a breath of fresh air despite the hate that constantly surrounds us. Hate that tries to trap people who are male, female, trans, gay, queer, gender non-identifying, young, old, all who happen to be Black or allies of Blacks. AfroPunk is unapologetically Black. If you want to celebrate our patterns, our style, our grace, humor, dance, creativity, food, music, and culture, you will also hear us when we raise our fist and say “Black Lives Matter,” and “Support Black Businesses,” “Love is Love,” and “We deserve all prosperity.”
You agree to these terms when you enter AfroPunk. You agree to drop any prejudice you have toward another, and allow your body, from your toes to your crown, to be covered in gold. You speak up against the hypocrites who find AfroPunk a rowdy, thugish party that disturbs the neighborhood. Because you know that the real message of AfroPunk is love for your fellow Black, Brown, Yellow, Red, and White sisters, brothers and non-gender identifying siblings as we celebrate Black life.
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